


That's Mine

by Major



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: M/M, Protective Connor, except he totally does, he doesn't do boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 08:03:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2460890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Major/pseuds/Major
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor sees Oliver getting hassled by a coworker and…  Well, he steps in.  But that doesn't make him his boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Only three episodes of HTGAWM so far, Oliver was only in two, and somehow I have a new OTP-for-life? ...I accept this. New to AO3, so if this first post comes out looking weird I'll try to fix the formatting.
> 
> Disclaimer: Tragically, I own nothing.

Connor wasn't even supposed to be there.  Oliver forgot his laptop at his apartment, and he volunteered to drop it off for him when the stress in his voice over the phone reminded him that law students didn't have exclusive rights to work related anxiety.  He wasn't doing anything anyway.  Keating wasn't riding his ass for once, and he didn't mind doing something that would encourage Oliver to ride it later.

He walked into the building freshly coiffed, smirk in place, ready to flirtatiously hand over the laptop bag strapped over his shoulder when he spotted Oliver ahead and stopped in his tracks.

The office was pretty lame compared to Keating's place.  The walls were bland, the cubicles were yawn inducing, and the whole floor reminded him of torture porn horror movies.  _We are going to strap you to this desk and make you work nine to five every day for the rest of your life, Walsh.  You will not be permitted to do anything but the same thing every day forever._   Except _Saw_ was preferable.He'd rather jump off the building than work in it, but he hadn't let that show on his face when he walked in.  He couldn’t turn a guy on by insulting his major life choices, at least not without touching him between barbs, but his enigmatic smile stuttered and cracked around the edges when he spotted his non-boyfriend a few feet away near the cubicle he was directed to by the secretary.  He was pinching the bridge of his nose while another guy scrolled through the tablet he was holding, shaking his head in annoyance.

"You're useless, Oliver.  Jesus Christ.  You should have finished this by now.  You know it's both our asses if we don't fix this today."  He berated at full volume.

Connor wasn't sure if he was more struck by his tone, the 'useless', or the way he was talking loud enough for anyone else in the office to hear.  When he caught the embarrassment on Oliver's face, he realized it wasn't one thing, it was all of it, and he wasn't struck, he was pissed.

"This is why I asked to work with Sanders.  He's about as slow as you but doesn't have his head up his ass."  The jerk went on, voice dripping with condescension.  "Now run back to your computer and this time try _not_ to waste my time."

Connor was striding over to them, legs moving of their own volition.  A crawling, burning sensation tightened his muscles.

"Oliver," he was staring at the man with the spiked tongue, a tight smile on his face as he spoke.

Oliver turned in surprise, a new blush dusting his cheeks at being overheard getting talked down to.

"Connor, hey."  He tried to rally, but the fire in Connor's eyes was still directed at the asshole, flames licking out for something to burn, a cool calm expression on his face.

"Hey."  He handed him the laptop and hated that Oliver's boyish smile was only at half-mast when he adjusted the strap over his own shoulder and carefully avoided his eyes.

"Who's your friend?"  The guy looked Connor over, eyes narrowed in suspicion.  "You know you're not due for a break yet, and you shouldn't take one at all until you get your shit together and stop making us look like idiots."

Oliver's eyes swept in Connor's general direction but didn't lift, mortification clear in his uncomfortable posture.  It made Connor's knuckles ache in a way that they hadn't since he left boarding school and began mastering control over his temper.  He didn't fight with his fists anymore.  He used words now, a weapon he had learned tended to strike much harder than physical blows.

"He's just dropping off my stuff.  He's my," Oliver paused in the introduction ( _I don't do boyfriends,_ ran through Connor's head, though not as loudly as he would have thought).  He stiffened.  No descriptor came, though.  "…Connor Walsh."

The guy nodded in general disinterest and introduced himself.  "I'm Brent Trask.  I'm—"

"I know who you are."  Connor cut him off.

Trask looked at him in confusion, and Oliver turned to him, much softer features creased in curiosity.

Connor nodded and explained with perfect aim.  "You're the office prick."

His smile was back on his face, sharp and cutting.

Trask blinked thickly in surprise.  "Excuse me?"

"Every office has one."  Connor explained patiently, reaching out and slapping his upper arm with charitable sympathy.  "That one guy that never gets laid, gets promoted by chance, but isn't as smart as the people working under him.  So he harasses them to make himself feel better about how being an asshole doesn't actually make him special.  You're bored at your job, you're bored in your life, and nobody here likes you."  He looked around the office conspiratorially before leaning closer and stage whispering, "No matter how much cheap cologne you bathe yourself in."

With a wrinkled nose of distaste at the smell coming off of him in pungent waves that were almost visible in their density, he leaned back and smirked.  Oliver stared at him, surprise and awe flitting behind his glasses.

Trask scowled, but like many bullies on the playground, he didn't like getting hit back.  Frowning, he tore his gaze away from Connor to snap at Oliver in parting, "I'm almost finished.  Just get your half done by five."

The bite and volume wasn't there anymore, Connor's words putting a pin in his ego, which he very much enjoyed watching deflate.

"If I'd had my laptop I'd already be finished."  Oliver responded, confidence boosted by Connor's support.  "Not all of us need five hours to complete such a simple task."

Connor grinned at his brazenness.  That was more like the take-no-shit guy who had once slammed the door in his face when he was being a dick.

Trask looked back at him, but Oliver didn't waver, and he turned back around glowering as he left.  Connor hoped that didn't backfire and make Oliver's work environment even more hostile, but that could not go unaddressed.

Oliver tapped his elbow, and he turned to him, drawing his eyes away from Trask's retreating form.  He was smiling that goofy smile, and it wasn't at half-mast anymore, billowing at the top of the pole, blowing in the wind.  Nerdy innocence on full display the way Connor liked it.  "That was…everything I've always wanted to say.  You didn't have to do that."

It was surprising and alarming for Connor to realize that, actually, he did.  He downplayed his discomfort at the uncontrollable instinct to defend Oliver by shrugging it off.  Whatever.  No big deal.  Who cares?

…Yeah right.

"Do you want to come over tonight?  I could pick up some food on the way back."  Oliver offered.  That sounded like a good way to end up in bed.

"Okay."  Connor's hand reached out, pressing into Oliver's side as he leaned close and whispered at his ear, "But tonight I do you."

The man who had so surprisingly delivered the same line in private blushed earnestly at getting it back in public.  A small sheepish smile tilted his lips, and he actually nodded.  He was fucking adorable.  Connor hated it and wanted it and had to protect it.  He didn't do boyfriends, but his hand tightened on Oliver's side.  He didn't kiss guys on the cheek after running an errand for them, but his lips did so now on their own accord.  He wasn't that person.  Didn't get attached or protective, though his mind had reared up and flared at Trask berating and humiliating Oliver ( _Back off.  That's_ mine _._ ).  He wasn't possessive, and he didn't fall for dorks too clueless to wear contacts or that were at risk for carpal tunnel syndrome from logging serious nerd hours online.  He was Connor Walsh, the office prick.

The shy look was still on Oliver's face when he pulled away.  He tried to smirk.  That might have jarred him back to normal, but Oliver's face was soft and trusting.

And all he could do was smile.


End file.
